the farmers’ market is an act of faith,the sky starting to smell like snow . . .we are all dressed like vegetables are the last things on our minds, yetwe are as determined as the kale to make the most of this descending season.

one friend finds me in the sweet potatoesand we swap stories for sustenance;he talks of reading with his daughtergreat stories of friends and loyalty and I think of my friends: tenacious as turnips,hardy as collards, and true as beets.